


Absolutely, Auror Potter

by assassi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Fight Club - Freeform, Lawyer Draco Malfoy, M/M, Sexual Content, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 18:37:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11995635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assassi/pseuds/assassi
Summary: Everyone always saw Draco in a certain way – the sculptured body women unabashedly stared at; the impeccable suit of the attorney; Slytherin’s hoodie, covering a Dark Mark, and a dark past. They never saw Draco’s naked soul, complicated as it was, with all of its layers and shades.





	Absolutely, Auror Potter

**Author's Note:**

> Most of this story (and not only this one) was inspired by Alex Malfoy's works. Check them out.  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing, but the plot, and not the characters.

The crowd was cheering loudly, a living, breathing monster, demanding its pathetic fix of fun. But was it really the crowd who was pathetic, or those needing to be here just as much, the real junkies? Needing a way to vent, to feel high or just to fucking feel alive while they bled on the dust…

Harry gripped his broom tighter, hating himself for being one of those pathetic bastards. One would probably say that a respected Auror didn’t need to be a part of a secret fight club of sorts just to feel the kind of thrill that kept him going, day to day; one would say that he’d probably get that with the job itself. Harry disagreed. Years had passed since he felt honored, maybe even humbled with his career choice. Now… He felt restricted by the title of an Auror. He caught the bad guys and let them in the hands of the law. He couldn’t lay a finger on them, no matter how much he sometimes ached to. They could even get away and Harry’s hands were still tied by his job.

Here… there were no rules, except for never using the Unforgivables. Everything else was fair game. Any curse, any weapon, any blood spilled on the arena was just something the crowd thrived on.

The magically enhanced voice of the referee echoed into the dimply lit place.

“Now, the next game is about to begin in a few seconds so may the players please step up!”

Harry sighed, knowing there was no going back. He was here already, body pumped with adrenalin, waiting for its fix. He knew he needed this. 

He stepped up, just in time with the other player…

…a man he wouldn’t have ever guessed he’d see again, much less here of all places…

Draco Malfoy stood there with the air of someone who was certainly not here for the first time. He wasn’t nervous. If anything he looked resigned to his own needs to be here and do this – a feeling Harry was all too familiar with. He wore only skinny black jeans, low hung and making his hipbones stand out. His chest and abs were a work of art, all tightly wound muscles, a sculpture come to life. The broom was thrown across his broad shoulders, muscular arms lifted and his hands holding the two ends of the stick as his eyes, pale but full of darkness, scanned the area. 

And stopped right on him.

The broom was slowly lowered, barely even held in one hand.

They stared at each other from the two sides of the arena, wide eyed in surprise. The audience erupted in loud applause, yells and encouragements filling the amphitheatric space. 

Draco blinked, jaw clenching and face twisting into a resolution. He gripped the broomstick tighter and walked into the circle with quick, deliberate movements, muscles rippling in the dim light. 

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, I must remind you of your sworn silence, made under an Unbreakable Vow, for what you’re about to witness hasn’t been witnessed in years!”, the referee announced. “Gryffindor against Slytherin! The Law and the Enforcement! Potter and Malfoy!”

“Time to put on a show, Potter”, the blonde smirked, greeting the raving audience.

Gulping dryly, Harry put on a fake smile and spread his arms, following Draco’s example…

*

The war was over and everyone chose their own path. Neville went to study for a teacher. Ginny signed with the Holyhead Harpies. George picked up the pieces of himself and continued what he had started with Fred, their legacy. Bill and Fleur had a kid. Charlie went back to his dragons and Percy – to his stack of papers, working for the Ministry. Seamus opened a pub. Dean opened his eyes and finally saw Seamus’ feelings for what they were, acknowledging his own crush and joining his now boyfriend in Scotland, running the pub together. Ron thought about becoming an Auror along with Harry, but he eventually gave up, instead joining George in the joke shop. Hermione continued with Law school, always ready to defend everyone’s rights, even if they hadn’t exactly asked for that…

Harry felt lost. His dream of becoming an Auror had lost its appeal during the long months of slowly ending Voldemort forever. He was tired of fighting evil, tired of despicable people, too lost in their own madness. But after a few months spent lazing around in Grimmauld Place he realized he had no other ideas, no other dreams… no other choices.

So an Auror he became, surrendering to a mundane, unsatisfying job of catching the bad guys but never really allowed to actually deal with them, once and for all; or at least teach them a good lesson. No, that was not something good guys did.

But deep in heart, Harry wasn’t always the good guy…

*

Malfoy stepped out the back door, looking trim and sharp in his pristine white shirt and the expensive robes. No one would have guessed he had been viciously fighting in a secret underground arena just a few minutes ago. Only his split lip betrayed his bloody hobby, giving him an even darker, sexy look.

Harry mentally cursed himself. 

“So, a lawyer by day, a fighter by night?”

A tiny bastard smirk crawled on the blonde’s handsome face. 

“I could say the same to you, Auror Potter.”

Their eyes met. Harry felt the corners of his own lips pull in a reluctant smile.

“And what happens on the arena…”

“…stays there”, Malfoy finished.

Harry nodded, a new thrill making his heart pump faster.

“See you on Saturday, Lawyer Malfoy.”

“Absolutely, Auror Potter.”

The smirk was still there, luring him, teasing him as Harry nodded a goodbye and tore his eyes from those sinful lips.

* 

He was skilled, so fucking skilled and sexy on that broom. All fluid movements and grace. He was either focused, that little frown between his pale eyebrows taunting Harry, or smirking like the smug bastard that he was, teasing Harry even further. He tried to convince himself it was the broom; the fact that Draco was an amazing flyer.

But Ginny was too and watching her fly had never given him a boner.

Judging by Draco’s antagonistic grin… he knew.

Draco jumped on the broomstick, midflight, did a backflip and caught the stick of the still flying broom with a disarming ease, his feet colliding hard with Harry’s chest, kicking him off his broom. 

Harry fell; and he fell hard.

As his back hit the dusty floor of the arena all Harry could think of was how beautiful Draco’s feint had been.

As Draco’s heavy booted feet touched the ground Harry had no more time to lay there and contemplate his rival and his muscular legs or the way he moved. He was already screwed.

Because when Harry fell, he fell hard.

Now all he could do was defend himself from Draco’s precise hits – magical and physical.

*

Draco Malfoy stood in the hall of the Ministry, looking like he’d just left the courtroom, and talked with a couple of other lawyers.

The formal robes suited him just like the dust and blood, spilled freely on the arena. Draco moved just as gracefully as he had last night in the air or the dirt floor. He wasn’t limping the way he should have after that hit in the ankle and he wasn’t favoring his left side after the blow he had taken there. Logically, Harry knew he could have healed those. But healed them so well, on his own? Maybe he had a personal Healer, one who was paid to keep quiet.

And while the robes and finely styled hair suited Draco, Harry couldn’t help but remember how he looked with his hair ruffled and with just a pair of thorn jeans, low hung on his trim waist, hipbones catching Harry’s surprisingly hungry gaze. Harry’s imagination went further, picturing Draco without the jeans. Naked and sweaty, twisting in rumpled sheets. He imagined him limping from something else…

Sharp grey eyes caught his own, probably glazed green orbs. Harry gulped dryly and nodded. Full lips stretched in that damn sinful smirk as Draco slowly nodded back, looking fully aware of having just become the main star in Harry’s dirty fantasies. Harry wasn’t even the first to drool on such impossible dreams – at least half of all those people attending the secret fights weren’t there to appreciate fighting skills, but rather the fighters themselves. Harry had seen the way many women and men ogled Draco. And now he’d just become another one of those pathetic people…

No. No, he wouldn’t be one of them. Draco was a good fighter, an amazing flyer and probably a good lawyer. And that’s all he’d ever be in Harry’s mind too.

*

“Hmm? Why do you care what he was like in Law school?”, Hermione frowned, adjusting her grip on her shopping basket. Then her brow relaxed in an unimpressed expression. “Harry, are you obsessing after him, again? Are you following him now too?”

“I’ll remind you that I was right when I said he was up to no good in sixth year!”, Harry argued, then added quickly. “But no, I was just curious.”

“Why?”, she insisted.

“We… met recently at an unlikely place. It just got me curious about what he’s like now.”

“Well, didn’t you see for yourself?”

“He’s not very talkative.” Harry was getting annoyed. “Look, are you going to answer me or not?” 

Hermione frowned again but didn’t comment on Harry’s outburst as she picked up some yoghurt.  
“I don’t know, Harry. I can’t tell you much. I know he changed a lot after the War. He wasn’t that insufferable snob. He wasn’t that Muggle-hating idiot and I couldn’t really hate him anymore, but we were a far cry from friends, either, so I don’t really know him. I don’t know if anyone does. Back in Law school, he was pretty quiet, wasn’t really sociable. He looked still shaken from trials. Then there were people picking up fights with him. He was pretty messed up that first few months. Then… he started getting better at ending the fights quicker, with less injuries for himself. He had no one to cover his back – some people had tried to offer help, but he shooed them off. He was all alone. I guess he just had no other choice but to just learn how to better defend himself and if he had to – to fight back.”

Harry didn’t realize his fists were clenched till he caught Hermione’s eyes, looking at his hands. He uncurled his fingers, clearing his throat.

“What about his lectures? Was he diligent?”

“Very. He didn’t miss a lesson, even in those awful first months when he had to show up injured. He was quiet, never speaking when there was a debate, just taking notes. The first time I heard him argue was in the courtroom when he started practicing.”

“Is he any good?”, Harry asked again.

“One of the best”, she answered.

Harry nodded, storing away that information.

It was one of the many pieces of Draco Malfoy he would unravel and tuck away. 

*

Draco Malfoy stepped into his expensive flat in the heart of London with the air of someone who could care less about the modern furniture, the gleaming steel surfaces in the kitchen or the Egyptian cotton sheets in his bedroom, pristine white and soft as a sigh. He tossed his briefcase on the ottoman and discarded his fine robes, carelessly letting them pool on the floor. He loosened his tie a little bit, undoing the first button of his shirt. He pulled out a bottle of 50yo whiskey and poured himself a generous amount. His lips stretched in a familiar sinful smirk over the rim of the glass.

“I could sue you for Auror Arbitrariness”, he suddenly said to the half-dark apartment, lit only by the moon.

A figure stood up from the far corner, stepping up predatorily. 

“Or we can do things the other way”, Harry offered.

Our way.

Draco threw the glass. Harry dodged it, jumping over Draco’s outstretched leg, already aiming to trip him. He threw himself inelegantly on top of the blonde and they struggled on the floor, both finally disentangling only to crawl back on all fours, staring at each other like wild beasts before they slowly stood up, a few feet of moonlit mahogany parquet separating them.

“You’re slacking, Potter. Missing the crowd already?”, Draco teased.

“We don’t need an audience to settle this”, Harry hissed, a blatant challenge.

Draco spared him a long, dark look; exploring. The small crease between his brows made him look dark and dangerous. His full lips twisted, fingers expertly undoing the knot of his tie, the silver cufflinks with his initials, the small buttons of the now ruffled white shirt.

“Well?”, he whispered back. “Let’s do it.”

It sounded cold and detached and not the way Harry felt right now. 

But he’d take it anyway.

“Lead the way.”

*

He was so different from the insufferable brat Draco used to know. Objectively, he knew he himself had changed. But Potter… he was something else.

His hair wasn’t just a messy mop of dark locks anymore, but had a stylish sexy look, luring Draco to drag his hands through it. His eyes stood out without the glasses, and even more without the scruff. Draco liked a five o’clock shadow, liked the look of it and the feel of it under his lips or between his thighs. But Potter’s clean-shaven cheeks made him look more… available. Attainable. Not like a young and inexperienced lad, just out of training, but more like a Roman warrior who had cleaned up for the feast, celebrating his victory. He couldn’t deny the man was devastatingly handsome – high cheekbones, a strong jaw, raven hair, broad shoulders. Strong and expert hands that could actually handle Draco, support him up a wall or guide him down that strong chiseled chest. Thick thighs and firm shins, good for a leverage both vertically and horizontally. And those fucking eyes, blazing with every shade and hue of green…

He was exactly Draco’s type. Maybe his whole standards, every fellow he had ever checked-out or fucked, had always subconsciously been based on Potter.

“I want you on your back in my bed…”, he heard himself saying. “Looking up at me… Your legs wound tightly around my waist as I fuck you… nice and slow…and I want you to look at me… only me…” 

Those impossible green eyes darkened as Potter promptly grabbed his shirt and kissed him, hard and unwavering. Draco was used on hard. He hit hard and the hits he took himself were hard enough to bruise as well. Whenever he hooked up with someone, a fan from the arena or a drunken fling after a night out, it was usually hard and quick, too.

But Potter’s hands were gentle as they moved his shirt out of the way. The urgency was there, the wild energy always buzzing around the young Auror, but those fingers didn’t seek to hurt. It anything, they stopped abruptly when Draco flinched, barely, when they touched a sore place. 

Green eyes inspected his bruised left side. The fingers were back, a light reverent caress. 

“I thought you hired a Healer for those”, Potter mused. “You moved so freely when I saw you yesterday.”

Draco shrugged, eyes carefully avoiding the Auror’s.

“I learned to hide my weaknesses. Never giving any opportunities to an enemy.”

He wondered if he said too much. If Potter would back away or be too mindful of Draco’s injuries if they even made it to the bedroom.

But the Auror didn’t step back, didn’t take it as a way out. He let himself be pushed into the bedroom and into the bed where Draco continued to ravish him. Their kisses were still hard, demanding, and the raven-head gave as good as he took as they fought for dominance. He seemed inclined to go along with Draco’s fantasy, surprisingly willing to be on the bottom and let Draco be on top. It was a little shock for the blonde, even if he tried to hide it. He reached out for his nightstand, more out of courtesy than anything, but the Auror surprised him again, hissing,

“Don’t bother”, and waving his hand in a wordless, wandless spell. He flinched a little, wincing at something, then wiggling his hips experimentally before nodding. “I’m good.”

Draco wasn’t going to argue.

He slid inside the man in one fluid thrust, making his partner groan and grip his shoulder harder. It took a moment for Draco to notice that Potter held his right arm and was careful with his left side, choosing to fist the sheets with his other hand. That revelation didn’t falter him and he began a steady pace, shifting in search for the right angle. Potter looked to be enjoying himself from the looks of it, black hair a stark contrast with the white pillows as he tossed back his head.

“’s good…”, he muttered quietly and Draco wondered if he was meant to hear that or if Potter was just thinking out loud. He found himself smiling either way.

Potter wasn’t holding back, but Draco’s bruised body did. His left side was killing him and his ankle screamed in pain as he used it for leverage to thrust harder. There was no way he was stopping now. Not when he was living a dream he’d never thought he would. Not when Potter writhed as beautifully as he did. Not when it felt so fucking amazing to thrust into that tight welcoming heat. It hadn’t been as good before, Draco thought, with the others. Or had it simply been that long? Was he just lightheaded after a long dry spell? Or was Potter really that good?

A hand caught his and tugged slightly. Draco’s eyes focused again, on a pair of blazing green.

“Here”, Potter instructed in a hoarse whisper. “Move your hand here. Lean a little to the right, put more of your weight that way.”

It was better. Million times better. Draco frowned a little, a silent question. Potter smirked.

“I learned how to manage my wounds.”

“And now you manage mine?”, Draco asked.

The bastard had the nerves to grin.

“As long as it grants me an orgasm.”

Draco’s next thrust was aimed straight for Harry’s prostate.

He made sure to make the smug idiot come his brains out that night.

*

Potter was very careful with his spells and hexes, very careful with his fists and kicks. It almost looked like they were fake-fighting, like Potter was training a newbie, sparing him the really painful hits. 

Draco’s face twisted in a sneer as he caught Potter in an arm-lock, hissing in his ear,

“Do not dare to hold back on me!”

Potter winced, breaking away from his grip and throwing another mild curse. Draco dodged easily, way too easily, frowning harder as he ducked and tripped Potter, throwing himself on top of him and catching him in another lock, wand pointed at his face.

“Are you mocking me?!”, he growled.

Potter closed his eyes, cursing quietly. His cheeks were pink from exertion, but why were his ears red too?

“I was kind of hoping on a repeat of Thursday night”, he admitted in barely a whisper.

Draco’s eyebrows lifted in surprise before his lips stretched in a smile.

“So you want me in top form?”

Those green eyes looked everywhere else but at Draco.

That was the first game ever, ended because one of the players laughed too hard to continue.

*

“How did you even get there?”, Harry asked as he poured some coffee into two mugs. He brought the cups into the living room where the blonde sat by the door to the balcony, watching the rain. Draco was barefooted, arms crossed over a simple black tee. He had that faraway expression Harry had seen so often lately.

“I found out about the club by chance – a client took me there to see a good show. I never expected to one day become the show”, he snorted bitterly, expression dark. “I don’t do it for the crowd. The women, throwing themselves at me after a fight. Is it pitiful and corny if I told you that I do it for the thrill? The feeling of being alive for a bit…” His lips twisted and he suddenly looked Harry straight in the eyes. “Maybe it fills the void inside me that nothing else could.”

Harry said nothing; nothing about his own reasons to join a secret fight club and his unsatisfying job and his probably unhealthy interest in Draco. They just sat there in silence, backs resting on the two opposite sides of the door case, legs intertwined as they watched the rain, sipping their coffee.

*

He moved around Draco’s kitchen with a familiarity that should scare the blonde after just a few weeks of… whatever they had. In reality Draco felt oddly… satisfied with the way things were going. He had no name for it and no need to put labels.

How the idiot managed to stain his obnoxiously red t-shirt while cooking the simplest spaghetti was beyond Draco. How he dealt with that – by pulling off the shirt – was something Draco wasn’t going to argue with. Potter pretended not notice Draco’s predatory gaze, locked onto the flexing muscles on his back and then, when he turned around, on his six-pack. The Auror waved a hand in another wordless wandless magic and his t-shirt flew in the direction of the bathroom and the hamper. He knew what wandless magic did to the blonde - Draco’s throat was suddenly dry and his cock twitched with interest. 

“You did this on purpose”, he noted, standing up and slowly walking closer to his prey caging him in and pressing his hard-on into Potter’s buttocks.

The bastard snorted.

“I so absolutely did”, he agreed, turning around in Draco’s arms with a self-satisfied grin and running a hand down Draco’s abs.

They had sex on the table.

The spaghetti sauce burned beyond recognition.

*

Harry was out of his mind and out of control.

His hand clenched harder around the other man’s throat as his victim’s head hit the brick wall of the side alley repeatedly.

“Why?”, he hissed.

The other man, whom he barely knew from the fights, groaned with pain.

“It was an accident. I swear it was an accident!”, he croaked as Harry’s grip tightened. 

“Harry”, Ron’s hand gripped his shoulder. Not so much in restraining, but rather in a grounding manner.

Harry’s expression was still dark and a little wild when he turned around and Apparated in swirl of robes.

* 

“St. Mungo” was almost deserted in this hour of the night. He didn’t even need to argue or flash a badge and use Auror Protections. He jogged up the stairs, already knowing which room number he needed.

He had been changing in the lockers when one of the other fighters had come rushing in, a little panicked, informing him there was a seriously wounded man in one of the fights and did Harry know a Healer who could keep quiet and not ask many questions? 

Harry went to see how bad the situation was and his whole world turned upside down when he spotted Draco’s unconscious and heavily bleeding body.

Of course it had to be Draco.

He had grabbed the blonde and Apparated immediately, right inside “St. Mungo”, demanding help right the fuck now! The Healers rushed, alarmed by the sight of the famous Auror Potter, and then by all the blood, pooling on the floor. They took Draco in one of the Emergency rooms while Harry was left to stitch up a decent cover story.

He made up a lie about Draco being wounded while being accidentally present during a hit, meant for Harry. Then he went to investigate what had really happened. 

He gathered up that it had happened during a fight and then he got the name and was on it. 

He found the man trying to escape from the back door and just lost it.

Only Ron, who had heard about incident in the club and come to check up on Harry, saved him from doing something really stupid.

His best friend Ron, who knew about his dirty little secret, kept it from his wife and still got Harry’s back. His best friend Ron, who followed him into the hospital and was now sitting down next to him and next to Draco’s bed.

“You have to stop, Harry”, he said again, softly instead of the usual yells that argument usually escalated to.

“I know”, Harry whispered staring into Draco’s unmoving form.

“He has to, too”, Ron pressed gently.

“I know”, Harry croaked. And then, because he was a masochist, “You know too, right? That he’s the one…”

“The one you’ve fallen for?”, Ron snorted. “Please. That’s old news.”

Harry looked back at his best friend. Ron’s expression wasn’t judging, wasn’t disgusted. He was smiling softly.

“It’s always been him, Harry. We just had to grow up a little to see it for what it was.”

If Harry broke down and cried a little in that hospital room, no one needed to know. And since only Ron witnessed that, no one would.

*

It took a few more hours for Draco to wake up. The dawn had just broken when he opened his eyes with a quiet groan, looking straight into a pair of worried green orbs.

“Hey”, Harry said softly.

“Hey”, Draco croaked.

“Do you want me to call a nurse or…?”, Harry began.

“That’s not my first time here, Potter”, Draco hissed.

The harsh words sobered Harry some.

“Right”, he said awkwardly, trying to ignore the twinge in his chest. “Right. I’ll just leave you to rest then…”

Draco’s pale hand quickly grabbed his in a surprisingly strong grip. The blonde gulped dryly. 

“Don’t”, he just said.

Harry slowly sat back down. His eyes studied Draco’s for some answers he didn’t ask the questions for. He must have gotten what he searched for, though, because he squeezed back Draco’s hand, a silent reassurance that he was there and he would stay.

*

The smell of bacon was all around the flat when Draco stepped in, sweaty but with a satisfied look on his face.

“You were up early”, Harry commented, eyeing the custom made Slytherin hoodie.

The fact that Draco not only owned but actually enjoyed Muggle clothes had surprised him at first but by now he had just added it to the growing list of things he knew and liked about the blonde.

“I’m getting back to work today. Thought a long run would be nice”, Draco shrugged.

Harry bit back something along the lines of how inappropriate it was that he went for a run so soon after getting discharged from a hospital and how instead he should hold back from strenuous activities. He knew Draco would be annoyed by such a blatant display of worry. Besides, what right did Harry have to worry over him? It wasn’t like they were truly together.

“You’re throwing all my effort out the window with such a greasy breakfast”, Draco complained, stealing a piece of bacon right out of the pan. He grinned when Harry slapped his hand, winked and walked back out of the room. 

“I’m taking a shower, then I’m off to work”, he called.

Harry leaned on the counter and sighed.

* 

“Potter! Come sign up for your game tonight with Morrison!”

Harry closed his locker and dragged his feet towards the manager’s office. Donovan tapped his fat finger over the sheets of the schedule. Harry rolled his eyes, grabbing a pen and lowering it… right below a familiar name, signed for another game with another fighter. Tonight.

“What the…”

“Huh? Hey, Potter, get back here!”

Harry threw the pen and ran, deaf for Donovan’s yells.

*

The door opened with a quiet click. He felt the exact moment Draco froze at his own doorstep, his eyes fixed on the Auror on his stairs, leading to the street.

“Please don’t go”, Harry begged, still not meeting his eyes. “It sounds hypocritical since we met there, I know, but I’ll…”

He finally looked up into the carefully blank grey eyes.

“I’ll find something else to fill the void. I’ll become that something to fill it. Just… let me be enough”, he begged.

Draco’s face twisted in something Harry couldn’t place, just for a second, and he looked away. He sighed, closing the door and slowly taking the few steps down to Harry’s level. He sat down and finally looked at Harry with a small watery smile.

“Idiot. We met 15 years ago at Madam Malkin’s.”

*

They ended up going to a small restaurant for diner. Harry had worried that it might feel awkward, the two of them out on a real date. Up until now their way to communicate was through fights and sex – it wasn’t really a healthy relationship if one could even call it that. But now they sat in a cozy booth and laughed on stories from their jobs and everyday life and thought about going to a Quidditch game.

They agreed on Harry paying since he had been the one to suggest it and then they Apparated back to his place.

“You’ve never invited me here”, Draco noted, stepping inside the dark foyer of Grimmauld Place.

“I thought you’d be uncomfortable”, Harry admitted.

“Hm? Why?”, Draco frowned.

“Well… it’s a Black estate. I thought it might awaken bad memories.”

Draco watched him carefully. “If it didn’t hurt you to come live here, then why would it hurt me? I was just a child when I was here for the last time.”

Harry sighed, lowering all guards. “It did hurt me. But it was all I had left from my last remaining family. It was my way to remember and honor Sirius.”

Draco didn’t say anything. He stepped up and kissed him, so gently that Harry almost didn’t recognize that same man he had slept with so many times by this moment. But it was different now and they both knew it. 

Clothes were discarded slowly, unhurriedly, as they took the steps up to Harry’s bedroom. Fingers explored, as if for the first time, places they hadn’t dared touch so far in a gentle caress they hadn’t dared to need, hadn’t dared to show. Draco suggested a shower and they stepped into the small adjoined bathroom, lit only by the street lights coming through the small window.

“I want to see you…”, Harry sighed, reaching for his wand to light up the small space. 

Draco’s hand suddenly grabbed his, stopping him. Harry heard him gulping dryly as he returned the hand to his naked chest and whispered quietly,

“Just feel me for now…”

He wasn’t ashamed of his body, Harry realized. Harry had seen him half-naked – numerous times in the arena, and stark naked - in his bed, on the fucking kitchen table even. There was surely nothing to be embarrassed from. But this, now, wasn’t about looks. Everyone always saw Draco in a certain way – the sculptured body women unabashedly stared at, probably getting their panties all wet; the impeccable suit of the attorney; Slytherin’s hoodie, covering a Dark Mark, and a dark past. They never saw Draco’s naked soul, complicated as it was, with all of its layers and shades. And sometimes the best way to see a soul was though touch, in the darkness of a place with no judgmental eyes. 

Harry felt like that was the first time they slowed down to actually enjoy themselves, their bodies and their true desires of more than just a quick relief. 

He closed his eyes and let himself just feel. Draco’s hands all around him, gently taking their time to explore and caress, Draco’s sighs in his ears and over his lips, Draco’s lips on his mouth, on his eyelids, on his brow, on his hair, over his heart… And then, because he knew it was what the blonde needed tonight, Draco’s walls clenching around Harry as he moved inside slowly and they writhed on his bed in his dark bedroom, savoring each hitched breath, every sigh, every gasp, every moan. 

They shared more than just an orgasm. They shared themselves.

*

Harry watched Draco move around Grimmauld’s unnecessary vast kitchen in a way that suggested he remembered the place pretty well. The blonde was wearing only his patented white shirt and a pair of boxer briefs, muttering how late he was going to be for work, but preparing coffee either way. He handed Harry his cup as he took a sip from his own mug. Harry left his coffee, still untouched, and waited for Draco to put down his cup as well and swallow.

“What is it?”, Draco frowned, “Did I mess u-..”

Harry grabbed his shirt and kissed him, hard and passionate. He felt Draco’s lips pulling in a smile even as they were still kissing. And that smile was a thousand times better that that taunting smirk.

*

Four months later…

“Paddington’s mocking me again.”

“Hmm? What for?”

“That we go back home from work together. He’s mocking me that I need Auror Protection.”

“Paddington has no idea you need no protection whatsoever and can kick his ass in your coffee break. He’s also so fucking jealous it’s obvious. That and he has a stupid last name”, Harry summed up.

Draco laughed out loud. He was still grinning when he added under his breath,

“You’re aware we have a tail, aren’t you?”

“M-hm”, Harry nodded.

“Yours or mine, what do you think?”, Draco mused.

“Could be both”, Harry reasoned as they continued walking calmly.

Someone pissed off after one of Draco’s cases or one of Harry’s countless enemies as an Auror. Honestly, they had more than enough on their plate. 

They also had the skills to deal with it.

“Ready, Lawyer Malfoy?”, Harry smiled, sneakily pulling out his wand.

“Absolutely, Auror Potter”, Draco smirked, following suit.

They turned around together, the way they now faced both trouble and pleasure.


End file.
